
Class _j:15a^2j. 

Book .l3SH,3 

COPyRIGHT DEPOSITS 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 



MAIN 
STREET 

and 
OTHER POEMS 

9 










COPYRIGHT, 191 7, 
BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 



PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 



OCT 16 1917 



'G; ^476577 



TO 
MRS. EDMUND LEAMY 



Some of these poems are reprinted by permission, which is 
hereby gratefully acknowledged, of The Bellman, The Bookman, 
The Boston Transcript, the Catholic World, Collier's, The 
Columbiad, Contemporary Verse, The Delineator, Extension, 
House and Garden, The Magnificat, McBride's Magazine, The 
National Sunday Magazine, The New Witness, The New York 
Times, The Outlook, Poetry: a Magazine of Verse, The Poetry 
Review, The Queen's Work, and Studies. 



CONTENTS 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Main Street .# . . i3 

Roofs i6 

The Snowman in the Yard 19 

A Blue Valentine 22 

Houses . • • 26 

In Memory 28 

Apology 31 

The Proud Poet 34 

Lionel Johnson 38 

Father Gerard Hopkins, S. J 39 

Gates and Doors 40 

-The Robe of Christ 43 

The Singing Girl 47 

The Annunciation 48 

Roses 49 

The Visitation 5i 

Multiplication . 52 

Thanksgiving 54 



[9 



CONTENTS 



Page 

The Thorn 55 

The Big Top 56 

Queen Elizabeth Speaks 60 

Mid-ocean in War-time 61 

In Memory of Rupert Brooke 62 

The New School 63 

Easter Week 66 

The Cathedral of Rheims 68 

Kmgs 73 

*The White Ships and the Red 74 



[10 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 



MAIN STREET 

(For S. M. L.) 

T LIKE to look at the blossomy track of the moon 

upon the sea, 
But it isn't half so fine a sight as Main Street used 

to be 
When it all was covered over with a couple of 

feet of snow, 
And over the crisp and radiant road the ringing 

sleighs would go. 

Now, Main Street bordered with autumn leaves, 

it was a pleasant thing. 
And its gutters were gay with dandelions early in 

the Spring; 
I like to think of it white with frost or dusty in 

the heat, 
Because I think it is humaner than any other 

street. 



[13 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 
MAIN STREET (continued) 

A city street that is busy and wide is ground by a 

thousand wheels, 
And a burden of traffic on its breast is all it ever 

feels : 
It is dully conscious of weight and speed and of 

work that never ends, 
But it cannot be human like Main Street, and 

recognise its friends. 

There were only about a hundred teams on Main 

Street in a day, 
And twenty or thirty people, I guess, and some 

children out to play. 
And there wasn't a wagon or buggy, or a man or 

a girl or a boy 
That Main Street didn't remember, and somehow 

seem to enjoy. 

The truck and the motor and trolley car and the 

elevated train 
They make the weary city street reverberate with 

pain: 



[14] 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 
MAIN STREET (continued) 

But there is yet an echo left deep down within my 

heart 
Of the music the Main Street cobblestones made 

beneath a butcher's cart. 

God be thanked for the Milky Way that runs 
across the sky, 

That's the path that my feet would tread when- 
ever I have to die. 

Some folks call it a Silver Sword, and some a 
Pearly Crown, 

But the only thing I think it is, is Main Street, 
Heaventown. 



15 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 



ROOFS 

(For Amelia Josephine Burr) 

^T^HE road is wide and the stars are out and the 
^ breath of the night is sweet, 

And this is the time when wanderlust should 

seize upon my feet. 
But I'm glad to turn from the open road and the 

starlight on my face, 
And to leave the splendour of out-of-doors for a 

human dwelling place. 

I never have seen a vagabond who really liked to 

roam ^ 

All up and down the streets of the world and not 

to have a home : 
The tramp who slept in your bam last night and 

left at break of day 
WiU wander only imtil he finds another place to 

stay. 



i6] 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 
ROOFS (continued) 

A gypsy-man will sleep in his cart with canvas 

overhead ; 
Or else he'll go into his tent when it is time for 

bed. 
He'll sit on the grass and take his ease so long 

as the stm is high, 
But when it is dark he wants a roof to keep away 

the sky. 

If you call a gypsy a vagabond, I think you do him 

wrong, 
For he never goes a-travelling but he takes his 

home along. 
And the only reason a road is good, as every 

wanderer knows. 
Is just because of the homes, the homes, the 

homes to which it goes. 

They say that life is a highway and its milestones 

are the years. 
And now and then there's a toll-gate where you 

buy your way with tears. 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 
ROOFS (continued) 

It's a rough road and a steep road and it stretches 

broad and far, 
But at last it leads to a golden Town where 

golden Houses are. 



i8 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 



THE SNOWMAN IN THE YARD 

(For Thomas Augustine Daly) 

npHE Judge's house has a splendid porch, with 
pillars and steps of stone, 
And the Judge has a lovely flowering hedge 
that came from across the seas ; 
In the Hales' garage you could put my house and 
everything I own, 
And the Hales have a lawn like an emerald 
and a row of poplar trees. 

Now I have only a little house, and only a little 
lot. 
And only a few square yards of lawn, with 
dandelions starred; 
But when Winter comes, I have something there 
that the Judge and the Hales have not. 
And it's better worth having than all their 
wealth — it's a snowman in the yard. 



19 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 

THE SNOWMAN IN THE YARD (continued) 

The Judge's money brings architects to make his 
mansion fair; 
The Hales have seven gardeners to make their 
roses grow; 
The Judge can get his trees from Spain and 
France and everywhere, 
And raise his orchids under glass in the midst 
of all the snow. 

But I have something no architect or gardener 
ever made, 
A thing that is shaped by the busy touch of 
little mittened hands : 
And the Judge would give up his lonely estate, 
where the level snow is laid 
For the tiny house with the trampled yard, the 
yard where the snowman stands. 

They say that after Adam and Eve were driven 
away in tears 
To toil and suffer their life-time through, 
because of the sin they sinned. 



[20 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 
THE SNOWMAN IN THE YARD (continued) 

The Lord made Winter to punish them for half 
their exiled years, 
To chill their blood with the snow, and pierce 
their flesh with the icy wind. 

But we who inherit the primal curse, and labour 
for our bread. 
Have yet, thank God, the gift of Home, though 
Eden^s gate is barred : 
And through the Winter's crystal veil. Love's 
roses blossom red. 
For him who lives in a house that has a snow- 
man in the yard. 



[21] 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 



A BLUE VALENTINE 

(For Aline) 

-lyrONSIGNORE, 

Right Reverend Bishop Valentinus, 
Sometime of Interamna, which is called Femi, 
Now of the delightful Court of Heaven, 
I respectfully salute you, 
I genuflect 
And I kiss your episcopal ring. 

It is not, Monsignore, 
The fragrant memory of your holy life. 
Nor that of your shining and joyous martyrdom, 
Which causes me now to address you. 
But since this is your august festival, Monsignore, 
It seems appropriate to me to state 
According to a venerable and agreeable custom, 
That I love a beautiful lady. 
Her eyes, Monsignore, 

Are so blue that they put lovely little blue reflec- 
tions 



22 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 

A BLUE VALENTINE (continued) 

On everything that she looks at, 

Such as a wall 

Or the moon 

Or my heart. 

It is like the light coming through blue stained 

glass, 
Yet not quite like it, 
For the blueness is not transparent, 
Only translucent. 
Her soul's light shines through, 
But her soul cannot be seen. 
It is something elusive, whimsical, tender, wanton, 

infantile, wise 
And noble. 

She wears, Monsignore, a blue garment, 
Made in the manner of the Japanese. 
It is very blue — 

I think that her eyes have made it more blue, 
Sweetly staining it 
As the pressure of her body has graciously given 

it form. 



23 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 

A BLUE VALENTINE (continued 

Loving her, Monsignore, 
I love all her attributes; 
But I believe 

That even if I did not love her 
I would love the blueness of her eyes, 
And her blue garment, made in the manner of 
the Japanese. 

Monsignore, 

I have never before troubled you with a request. 

The saints whose ears I chiefly worry with my 

pleas are the most exquisite and maternal 

Brigid, 
Gallant Saint Stephen, who puts fire in my blood. 
And your brother bishop, my patron. 
The generous and jovial Saint Nicholas of Bari. 
But, of your courtesy, Monsignore, 
Do me this favour: 

When you this morning make your way 
To the Ivory Throne that bursts into bloom with 

roses because of her who sits upon it. 



24 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 
A BLUE VALENTINE (continued) 

When you come to pay your devoir to Our Lady, 

I beg you, say to her : 

"Madame, a poor poet, one of your singing 

servants yet on earth. 
Has asked me to say that at this moment he is 

especially grateful to you 
For wearing a blue gown." 



25 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 



w 



HOUSES 

(For Aline) 

HEN you shall die and to the sky 

Serenely, delicately go, 
Saint Peter, when he sees you there, 

Will clash his keys and say : 
"Now talk to her, Sir Christopher! 

And hurry, Michelangelo ! 
She wants to play at building, 
And you've got to help her play!" 

Every architect will help erect 

A palace on a lawn of cloud, 
With rainbow beams and a stmset roof, 

And a level star-tiled floor; 
And at your will you may use the skill 

Of this gay angelic crowd. 
When a house is made you will throw it down. 

And they'll build you twenty more. 



[26 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 

HOUSES (continued) 

For Christopher Wren and these other men 

Who used to build on earth 
Will love to go to work again 

If they may work for you. 
"This porch," you'll say, "should go this 
way !" 

And they'll work for all they're worth, 
And they'll come to your palace every 
morning. 

And ask you what to do. 

And when night comes down on Heaven-town 

^ (K there should be night up there) 

You will choose the house you like the best 

Of all that you can see : 
And its walls will glow as you drowsily go 

To the bed up the golden stair, 
And I hope you'll be gentle enough to keep 

A room in yovu: house for me. 



27] 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 



IN MEMORY 



QERENE and beautiful and very wise, 
^ Most erudite in curious Grecian lore, 

You lay and read your learned books, and bore 
A weight of unshed tears and silent sighs. 
The song within your heart could never rise 

Until love bade it spread its wings and soar. 

Nor could you look on Beauty's face before 
A poet's burning mouth had touched your eyes. 

Love IS made out of ecstasy and wonder; 

Love is a poignant and accustomed pain. 
It is a burst of Heaven-shaking thunder; 

It is a linnet's fluting after rain. 
Love's voice is through your song; above and 
imder 

And in each note to echo and remain. 



28] 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 

IN MEMORY (continued) 

n 

Because Mankind is glad and brave and young, 
Full of gay flames that white and scarlet glow, 
All joys and passions that Mankind may know 

By you were nobly felt and nobly simg. 

Because Mankind's heart every day is wrung 
By Fate's wild hands that twist and tear it so. 
Therefore you echoed Man's xmdying woe, 

A harp Aeolian on Life's branches himg. 

So did the ghosts of toiling children hover 
About the piteous portals of your mind ; 

Your eyes, that looked on glory, could discover 
The angry scar to which the world was blind: 

And it was grief that made Mankind your lover. 
And it was grief that made you love Mankind. 



29 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 

IN MEMORY (continued) 

m 

Before Christ left the Citadel of Light, 
To tread the dreadful way of human birth, 
His shadow sometimes fell upon the earth 

And those who saw it wept with joy and fright. 

"Thou art Apollo, than the sim more bright !" 
They cried. "Our music is of little worth. 
But thrill our blood with thy creative mirth 

Thou god of song, thou lord of lyric might!" 

O singing pilgrim! who could love and follow 
Your lover Christ, through even love's despair, 

You knew within the C3rpress-darkened hollow 
The feet that on the movmtain are so fair. 

For it was Christ that was your own Apollo, 
And thorns were in the laurel on your hair. 



30 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 



APOLOGY 

(For Eleanor Rogers Cox) 

T7OR blows on the fort of evil 
-*■ That never shows a breach, 
For terrible life-long races 

To a goal no foot can reach, 
For reckless leaps into darkness 

With hands outstretched to a star. 
There is jubilation in Heaven 

Where the great dead poets are. 

There is joy over disappointment 

And delight in hopes that were vain. 
Each poet is glad there was no cure 

To stop his lonely pain. 
For nothing keeps a poet 

In his high singing mood 
Like unappeasable himger 

For unattainable food. 



[31] 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 
APOLOGY (continued) 

So fools are glad of the folly 

That made them weep and sing, 
And Keats is thankful for Fanny Brawne 

And Drummond for his king. 
They know that on flinty sorrow 

And failure and desire 
The steel of their souls was hammered 

To bring forth the lyric fire. 

Lord Byron and Shelley and Plimkett, 

McDonough and Himt and Pearse 
See now why their hatred of tyrants 

Was so insistently fierce. 
Is Freedom only a Will-o'-the-wisp 

To cheat a poet's eye? 
Be it phantom or fact, it's a noble cause 

In which to sing and to die ! 

So not for the Rainbow taken 
And the magical White Bird snared 

The poets sing grateful carols 
In the place to which they have fared; 



[32 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 
APOLOGY (continued) 

But for their lifetime's passion, 

The quest that was fruitless and long, 

They chorus their loud thanksgiving 
To the thorn-crowned Master of Song. 



33 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 



THE PROUD POET 

(For Shaemas O Sheel) 

/^NE winter night a Devil came and sat upon 
^^ my bed, 
His eyes were full of laughter for his heart was 
full of crime. 
"Why don't you take up fancy work, or embroi- 
dery?" he said, 
"For a needle is as manly a tool as a pen that 
makes a rhyme !" 
"You Httle ugly Devil," said I, "go back to Hell 

For the idea you express I will not listen to : 
I have trouble enough with poetry and poverty as 
well, 
Without having to pay attention to orators like 
you. 

"When you say of the making of ballads and 
songs that it is woman's work 
You forget all the fighting poets that have been 

in every land. 

_ 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 

THE PROUD POET (continued) 

There was Byron who left all his lady-loves to 
fight against the Turk, 
And David, the Singing King of the Jews, who 
was bom with a sword in his hand. 
It was yesterday that Rupert Brooke went out to 
the Wars and died, 
And Sir Phihp Sidney's lyric voice was as sweet 
as his arm was strong; 
And Sir Walter Raleigh met the axe as a lover 
meets his bride. 
Because he carried in his soul the courage of 
his song. 

"And there is no consolation so quickening to the 
heart 
As the warmth and whiteness that come from 
the lines of noble poetry. 
It is strong joy to read it when the woimds of the 
spirit smart. 
It puts the flame in a lonely breast where only 
ashes be. 



35 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 

THE PROUD POET (continued) 

It is strong joy to read it, and to make it is a 
thing 
That exalts a man with a sacreder pride than 
any pride on earth. 
For it makes him kneel to a broken slave and set 
his foot on a king, 
And it shakes the walls of his little soul with 
the echo of God's mirth. 

"There was the poet Homer had the sorrow to be 
blind, 
Yet a himdred people with good eyes wotild 
listen to him all night; 
For they took great enjoyment in the heaven of 
his mind, 
And were glad when the old blind poet let them 
share his powers of sight. 
And there was Heine lying on his mattress all day 
long. 
He had no wealth, he had no friends, he had no 
joy at all, 

[36] 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 

THE PROUD POET (continued) 

Except to pour his sorrow into little cups of song, 
And the world finds in them the magic wine 
that his broken heart let fall. 

"And these are only a couple of names from a list 
of a thousand score 
Who have put their glory on the world in poverty 
and pain. 
And the title of poet's a noble thing, worth living 
and dying for, 
Though all the devils on earth and in Hell spit 
at me their disdain. 
It is stem work, it is perilous work, to thrust your 
hand in the sxm 
And pull out a spark of immortal flame to warm 
the hearts of men : 
But Prometheus, torn by the claws and beaks 
whose task is never done, 
Would be tortured another eternity to go 
stealing fire again." 



37] 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 



LIONEL JOHNSON 

(For the Rev. John J. Burke, C. S. P.) 

^T^HERE was a murkier tinge in London's air 
As if the honest fog blushed black for shame. 
Fools sang of sin, for other fools' acclaim, 

And Milton's wreath was tossed to Baudelaire. 

The flowers of evil blossomed everywhere, 
But in their midst a radiant lily came 
Candescent, pure, a cup of living flame, 

Bloomed for a day, and left the earth more fair 

And was it Charles, thy "fair and fatal King," 
Who bade thee welcome to the lovely land? 

Or did Lord David cease to harp and sing 
To take in his thine emulative hand? 

Or did Our Lady's smile shine forth, to bring 
Her lyric Knight within her choir to stand? 



[38] 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 



FATHER GERARD HOPKINS, S. J. 

\\TJIY didst thou carve thy speech laboriously, 
And match and blend thy words with 
curious art? 
For Song, one saith, is but a human heart 
Speaking aloud, undisciplined and free. 
Nay, God be praised, Who fixed thy task for thee 1 
Austere, ecstatic craftsman, set apart 
From all who traffic in Apollo's mart, 
On thy phrased paten shall the Splendour be I 

Now, carelessly we throw a rhyme to God, 
Singing His praise when other songs are done. 

But thou, who knewest paths Teresa trod. 
Losing thyself, what is it thou hast won? 

O bleeding feet, with peace and glory shod I 
O happy moth, that flew into the Stm! 



[39 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 



T 



GATES AND DOORS 

(For Richardson Little Wright) 

HERE was a gentle hostler 



(And blessed be his name !) 
He opened up the stable 

The night Our Lady came. 
Our Lady and Saint Joseph, 

He gave them food and bed, 
And Jesus Christ has given him 

A glory round his head. 

So let the gate swing open 

However poor the yard, 
Lest weary people visit you 

And find their passage barred; 
Unlatch the door at midnight 

And let your lantern's glow 
Shine out to guide the traveler's feet 

To you across the snow. 



40] 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 

GATES AND DOORS (continued) 

There was a courteous hostler 

(He is in Heaven to-night) 
He held Our Lady's bridle 

And helped her to alight; 
He spread clean straw before her 

Whereon she might lie down, 
And Jesus Christ has given him 

An everlasting crown. 

Unlock the door this evening 

And let your gate swing wide. 
Let all who ask for shelter 

Come speedily inside. 
What if your yard be narrow? 

What if your house be small? 
There is a Guest is coming 

Will glorify it all 

There was a joyous hostler 
Who knelt on Christmas mom 

Beside the radiant manger 
Wherein his Lord was bom. 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 
GATES AND DOORS (continued) 

His heart was full of laughter, 
His soul was full of bliss 

When Jesus, on His Mother's lap, 
Gave him His hand to kiss. 

Unbar your heart this evening 

And keep no stranger out, 
Take from your souVs great portal 

The barrier of doubt. 
To humble folk and weary 

Give hearty welcoming, 
Your breast shall be to-morrow 

The cradle of a King. 



42] 



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A 



THE ROBE OF CHRIST 

(For Cecil Chesterton) 

T the foot of the Cross on Calvary 



Three soldiers sat and diced, 
And one of them was the Devil 
And he won the Robe of Christ. 

When the Devil comes in his proper form 
To the chamber where I dwell, 

I know him and make the Sign of the Cross 
Which drives him back to Hell. 

And when he comes like a friendly man 

And puts his hand in mine. 
The fervour in his voice is not 

From love or joy or wine. 

And when he comes like a woman, 

With lovely, smiling eyes. 
Black dreams float over his golden head 

Like a swarm of carrion flies. 



43 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 
THE ROBE OF CHRIST (continued) 

Now many a million tortured souls 

In his red halls there be : 
Why does he spend his subtle craft 

In htmting after me? 

Kings, queens and crested warriors 
Whose memory rings through time, 

These are his prey, and what to him 
Is this poor man of rhyme, 

That he, with such laborious skill, 
Should change from r51e to role, 

Should daily act so many a part 
To get my little soul? 

Oh, he can be the forest, 

And he can be the sim, 
Or a buttercup, or an hour of rest 

When the weary day is done. 

I saw him through a thousand veils, 

And has not this sufficed? 
Now, must I look on the Devil robed 

In the radiant Robe of Christ? 



44 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 

THE ROBE OF CHRIST (continued) 

He comes, and his face is sad and mild, 
With thorns his head is crowned; 

There are great bleeding woxmds in his feet, 
And in each hand a woimd. 

How can I tell, who am a fool, 

If this be Christ or no? 
Those bleeding hands outstretched to me I 

Those eyes that love me so ! 

I see the Robe — I look — I hope — 

I fear — but there is one 
Who will direct my troubled mind; 

Christ's Mother knows her Son. 

O Mother of Good Counsel, lend 

Intelligence to me ! 
Encompass me with wisdom. 

Thou Tower of Ivory ! 

"This is the Man of Lies," she says, 

"Disguised with fearful art : 
He has the wounded hands and feet, 

But not the woimded heart." 



45] 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 



THE ROBE OF CHRIST (continued) 

Beside the Cross on Calvary 

She watched them as they diced. 

She saw the Devil join the game 
And win the Robe of Christ. 



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THE SINGING GIRL 

(For the Rev. Edward F. Garesche, S. J.) 

'T^HERE was a little maiden 
In blue and silver drest, 
She sang to God in Heaven 
And God within her breast. 

It flooded me with pleasure, 

It pierced me like a sword, 
When this yoxmg maiden sang: "My soul 

Doth magnify the Lord." 

The stars sing all together 

And hear the angels sing, 
But they said they had never heard 

So beautiful a thing. 

Saint Mary and Saint Joseph, 

And Saint Elizabeth, 
Pray for us poets now 

And at the hoiu: of death. 



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THE ANNUNCIATION 

(For Helen Parry Eden) 

TTAIL Mary, full of grace," the Angel saith. 

Owe Lady bows her head, and is ashamed; 
She has a Bridegroom Who may not be named. 

Her mortal flesh bears Him Who conquers death. 

Now in the dust her spirit grovelleth; 
Too bright a Svm before her eyes has flamed, 
Too fair a herald joy too high proclaimed. 

And human lips have trembled in God's breath. 

O Mother-Maid, thou art ashamed to cover 
With thy white self, whereon no stain can be, 

Thy God, Who came from Heaven to be thy Lover, 
Thy God, Who came from Heaven to dwell in 
thee. 

About thy head celestial legions hover, 
Chanting the praise of thy humility. 



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ROSES 

(For Katherine Bregy) 

T WENT to gather roses and twine them in a 

ring, 
For I would make a posy, a posy for the King. 
I got an hundred roses, the loveliest there be. 
From the white rose vine and the pink rose bush 
and from the red rose tree. 

But when I took my posy and laid it at His feet 
I found He had His roses a million times more 

sweet. 
There was a scarlet blossom upon each foot and 

hand. 
And a great pink rose bloomed from His side for 

the healing of the land. 

Now of this fair and awful King there is this 

marvel told. 
That He wears a crown of linked thorns instead 

of one of gold. 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 

ROSES (continued) 

Where there are thorns are roses, and I saw a 

line of red, 
A little wreath of roses around His radiant head. 

A red rose is His Sacred Heart, a white rose is 

His face. 
And His breath has turned the barren world to a 

rich and flowery place. 
He is the Rose of Sharon, His gardener am I, 
And I shall drink His fragrance in Heaven when 

Idle. 



50] 



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THE VISITATION 

(For Louise Imogen Guiney) 

'T^HERE is a wall of flesh before the eyes 
'■' Of John, who yet perceives and hails his 
King. 
It is Our Lady's painful bliss to bring 
Before mankind the Glory of the skies. 
Her cousin feels her womb's sweet burden rise 
And leap with joy, and she comes forth to sing. 
With trembling mouth, her words of welcoming. 
She knows her hidden God, and prophesies. 

Saint John, pray for us, weary souls that tarry 
Where life is withered by sin's deadly breath. 

Pray for us, whom the dogs of Satan harry. 
Saint John, Saint Anne, and Saint Elizabeth. 

And, Mother Mary, give us Christ to carry 
Within our hearts, that we may conquer death. 



51] 



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MULTIPLICATION 

(For S. M. E.) 

T TAKE my leave, with sorrow, of Him I love so 

•*■ well; 

I look my last upon His small and radiant prison- 
cell; 

O happy lamp! to serve Him with never ceasing 
light! 

happy flame ! to tremble forever in His sight ! 

1 leave the holy quiet for the loudly human train, 
And my heart that He has breathed upon is filled 

with lonely pain. 

King, O Friend, O Lover! What sorer grief 

can be 
In all the reddest depths of Hell than banishment 
from Thee? 

But from my window as I speed across the sleep- 
ing land 

1 see the towns and villages wherein His houses 

stand. 

[52] 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 

MULTIPLICATION (continued) 

Above the roofs I see a cross outlined against the 

night, 
And I know that there my Lover dwells in His 

sacramental might. 

Dominions kneel before Him, and Powers kiss 

His feet, 
Yet for me He keeps His weary watch in the 

turmoil of the street : 
The King of Kings awaits me, wherever I may go, 
O who am I that He should deign to love and 

serve me so? 



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THANKSGIVING 

(For John Bunker) 

^T^HE roar of the world is in my ears. 

Thank God for the roar of the world ! 
Thank God for the mighty tide of fears 
Against me always hurled ! 

Thank God for the bitter and ceaseless strife, 
And the sting of His chastening rod ! 

Thank God for the stress and the pain of life, 
And Oh, thank God for God! 



[54] 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 



THE THORN 

(For the Rev. Charles L. O'Donnell, C. S. C.) 

'T'^HE garden of God is a radiant place, 
"*• And every flower has a holy face : 

Our Lady like a lily bends above the cloudy 
sod, 

But Saint Michael is the thorn on the rose- 
bush of God. 

David is the song upon God's lips, 
And Our Lady is the goblet that He sips: 
And GabriePs the breath of His command. 
But Saint Michael is the sword in God's right 
hand. 

The Ivory Tower is fair to see. 

And may her walls encompass me! 

But when the Devil comes with the thunder 

of his might. 
Saint Michael, show me how to fight! 



55] 



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THE BIG TOP 

^npHE boom and blare of the big brass band is 
cheering to my heart 
And I like the smell of the trampled grass and 
elephants and hay. 
I take off my hat to the acrobat with his delicate, 
strong art, 
And the motley mirth of the chalk-faced clown 
drives all my care away. 

I wish I could feel as they must feel, these players 
brave and fair. 
Who nonchalantly juggle death before a staring 
throng. 
It must be fine to walk a line of silver in the air 
And to cleave a himdred feet of space with a 
gesture like a song. 

Sir Henry Irving never knew a keener, sweeter 
thrill 
Than that which stirs the breast of him who 
turns his painted face 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 

THE BIG TOP (continued) 

To the circling crowd who laugh aloud and clap 
hands with a will 
As a tribute to the clown who won the great 
wheel-barrow race. 

Now, one shall work in the living rock with a 
mallet and a knife, 
And another shall dance on a big white horse 
that canters round a ring, 
By another's hand shall colours stand in similitude 
of life ; 
And the hearts of the three shall be moved by 
one mysterious high thing. 

For the sculptor and the acrobat and the painter 
are the same. 
They know one hope, one fear, one pride, one 
sorrow and one mirth. 
And they take delight in the endless fight for the 
fickle world's acclaim; 
For they worship art above the clouds and 
serve her on the earth. 



57] 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 

THE BIG TOP (continued) 

But you, who can build of the stubborn rock no 
form of loveliness, 
Who can never mingle the radiant hues to 
make a wonder live. 
Who can only show your little woe to the world in 
a rhythmic dress — 
What kind of a counterpart of you does the 
three-ring circus give? 

Well — ^here in the little side-show tent to-day 
some people stand. 
One is a giant, one a dwarf, and one has a 
figured skin, 
And each is scarred and seared and marred by 
Fate's relentless hand, 
And each one shows his grief for pay, with a 
sort of pride therein. 

You put your sorrow into rhyme and want the 
world to look; 
You sing the news of your ruined hope and 
want the world to hear; 

— 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 



THE BIG TOP (continued) 

Their woe is pent in a canvas tent and yours in a 
printed book. 
O, poet of the broken heart, salute your 
brothers here ! 



59 



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QUEEN ELIZABETH SPEAKS 

IV/TY hands were stained with blood, my heart 

was proud and cold, 
My soul is black with shame . .". but I gave 

Shakespeare gold. 
So after aeons of flame, I may, by grace of God, 
Rise up to kiss the dust that Shakespeare's feet 

have trod. 



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MID-OCEAN IN WAR-TIME 

(For My Mother) 

^T^HE fragile splendour of the level sea, 

The moon's serene and silver-veiled face, 
Make of this vessel an enchanted place 

Full of white mirth and golden sorcery. 

Now, for a time, shall careless laughter be 
Blended with song, to lend song sweeter grace, 
And the old stars, in their imending race, 

Shall heed and envy yoimg hiunanity. 

And yet to-night, a hundred leagues away. 
These waters blush a strange and awful red. 

Before the moon, a cloud obscenely grey 
Rises from decks that crash with flying lead. 

And these stars smile their immemorial way 
On waves that shroud a thousand newly dead! 



6i 



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IN MEMORY OF RUPERT BROOKE 

TN alien earth, across a troubled sea, 

His body lies that was so fair and young. 
His mouth is stopped, with half his songs 
unsung; 
His arm is still, that struck to make men free. 
But let no cloud of lamentation be 
Where, on a warrior's grave, a lyre is himg. 
We keep the echoes of his golden tongue, 
We keep the vision of his chivalry. 

So Israel's joy, the loveliest of kings. 

Smote now his harp, and now the hostile horde. 
To-day the starry roof of Heaven rings 

With psalms a soldier made to praise his Lord; 
And David rests beneath Eternal wings. 

Song on his lips, and in his hand a sword. 



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THE NEW SCHOOL 

(For My Mother) 

^X^HE halls that were loud with the merry tread 
of young and careless feet 
Are still with a stillness that is too drear to 
seem like holiday, 
Ai;id never a gust of laughter breaks the calm of 
the dreaming street 
Or rises to shake the ivied walls and frighten 
the doves away. 

The dust is on book and on empty desk, and the 
tennis-racquet and balls 
Lie still in their lonely locker and wait for a 
game that is never played. 
And over the study and lecture-room and the 
river and meadow falls 
A stem peace, a strange peace, a peace that 
War has made. 



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MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 

THE NEW SCHOOL (continued) 

For many a youthful shoulder now is gay with an 
epaulet, 
And the hand that was deft with a cricket-bat 
is defter with a sword, 
And some of the lads will laugh to-day where the 
trench is red and wet. 
And some will win on the bloody field the 
accolade of the Lord. 

They have taken their youth and mirth away 
from the study and playing-ground 
To a new school in an alien land beneath an 
alien sky; 
Out in the smoke and roar of the fight their 
lessons and games are foimd, 
And they who were learning how to live are 
learning how to die. 

And after the golden day has come and the war is 
at an end, 
A slab of bronze on the chapel wall will tell of 
the noble dead. 



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THE NEW SCHOOL (continued) 

And every name on that radiant list will be the 
name of a friend, 
A name that shall through the centuries in 
grateful prayers be said. 

And there will be ghosts in the old school, brave 
ghosts with laughing eyes. 
On the field with a ghostly cricket-bat, by the 
stream with a ghostly rod; 
They will touch the hearts of the living with a 
flame that sanctifies, 
A flame that they took with strong yoimg hands 
from the altar-fires of God. 



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EASTER WEEK 

(In memory of Joseph Mary Plunkett) 
("Romantic Ireland's dead and gone, 
Ifs with O'Leary in the grave.") 

William Butler Yeats. 

""nOMANTIC Ireland's dead and gone, 

It's with O'Leary in the grave." 
Then, Yeats, what gave that Easter dawn 
A hue so radiantly brave? 

There was a rain of blood that day, 
Red rain in gay blue April weather. 

It blessed the earth till it gave birth 
To valour thick as blooms of heather. 

Romantic Ireland never dies ! 

O'Leary lies in fertile groimd, 
And songs and spears throughout the years 

Rise up where patriot graves are foimd. 

Immortal patriots newly dead 
And ye that bled in bygone years, 

What banners rise before your eyes? 
What is the time that greets your ears? 

feel 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 
EASTER WEEK (continued) 

The young Republic's banners smile 
For many a mile where troops convene. 

O'Connell Street is loudly sweet 
With strains of Wearing of the Green. 

The soil of Ireland throbs and glows 
With life that knows the hour is here 

To strike again like Irishmen 

For that which Irishmen hold dear. 

Lord Edward leaves his resting place 
And Sarsfield's face is glad and fierce. 

See Emmet leap from troubled sleep 
To grasp the hand of Padraic Pearse! 

There is no rope can strangle song 
And not for long death takes his toll. 

No prison bars can dim the stars 
Nor quicklime eat the living soul. 

Romantic Ireland is not old. 

For years untold her youth will shine. 
Her heart is fed on Heavenly bread, 

The blood of martyrs is her wine. 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 



THE CATHEDRAL OF RHEIMS 

(From the French of Emile Verhaeren) 

TTE who walks through the meadows of Cham- 
pagne 

At noon in Fall, when leaves like gold appear, 

Sees it draw near 
Like some great moimtain set upon the plain, 
From radiant dawn imtil the close of day, 

Nearer it grows 

To him who goes 
Across the cotmtry. When tall towers lay 

Their shadowy pall 

Upon his way, 

He enters, where 
The solid stone is hollowed deep by all 
Its centuries of beauty and of prayer. 

Ancient French temple ! thou whose hundred kings 
Watch over thee, emblazoned on thy walls, 
Tell me, within thy memory-hallowed halls 
What chant of triimiph, or what war-song rings? 

[68] 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 

THE CATHEDRAL OF RHEIMS (continued) 

Thou hast known Clovis and his Prankish train, 

Whose mighty hand Saint Remy^s hand did keep 

And in thy spacious vault perhaps may sleep 

An echo of the voice of Charlemagne. 

For God thou has known fear, when from His side 

Men wandered, seeking alien shrines and new, 

But still the sky was bountiful and blue 

And thou wast crowned with France's love and 

pride. 
Sacred thou art, from pinnacle to base ; 
And in thy panes of gold and scarlet glass 
The setting sun sees thousandfold his face ; 
Sorrow and joy, in stately silence pass 
Across thy walls, the shadow and the light; 
Aroimd thy lofty pillars, tapers white 
Illuminate, with dehcate sharp flames, 
The brows of saints with venerable names, 
And in the night erect a fiery wall. 
A great but silent fervour bums in all 
Those simple folk who kneel, pathetic, dumb, 
And know that down below, beside the Rhine— 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 

THE CATHEDRAL OF RHEIMS (continued) ^ 

Cannon, horses, soldiers, flags in line — 
With blare of trumpets, mighty armies come. 

Suddenly, each knows fear; 

Swift nmiours pass, that every one must hear, 

The hostile banners blaze against the sky 

And by the embassies mobs rage and cry. 

Now war has come, and peace is at an end. 

On Paris town the German troops descend. 

They are turned back, and driven to Champagne. 

And now, as to so many weary men. 

The glorious temple gives them welcome, when 

It meets them at the bottom of the plain. 

At once, they set their cannon in its way. 

There is no gable now, nor wall 
That does not suffer, night and day. 

As shot and shell in crushing torrents fall. 
The stricken tocsin quivers through the tower; 

The triple nave, the apse, the lonely choir 
Are circled, hour by hour. 

With thundering bands of fire 
And Death is scattered broadcast among men. 

[70] 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 
THE CATHEDRAL OF RHEIMS (continued) 

And then 

That which was splendid with baptismal grace; 

The stately arches soaring into space, 

The transepts, columns, windows gray and gold, 

The organ, in whose tones the ocean rolled. 

The crypts, of mighty shades the dwelling places, 

The Virgin's gentle hands, the Saints' pure faces, 

All, even the pardoning hands of Christ the Lord 

Were struck and broken by the wanton sword 

Of sacrilegious lust. 

O beauty slain, O glory in the dust! 
Strong walls of faith, most basely overthrown! 
The crawling flames, like adders glistening 
Ate the white fabric of this lovely thing. 
Now from its soul arose a piteous moan, 
The soul that always loved the just and fair. 
Granite and marble loud their woe confessed, 
The silver monstrances that Popes had blessed, 
The chalices and lamps and crosiers rare 
Were seared and twisted by a flaming breath; 
The horror everywhere did range and swell, 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 

THE CATHEDRAL OF RHEIMS (continued) 

The guardian Saints into this furnace fell, 
Their bitter tears and screams were stilled in 
death. 

Around the flames armed hosts are skirmishing, 
The burning sun reflects the lurid scene ; 
The German army, fighting for its life, 
Rallies its torn and terrified left wing; 

And, as they near this place 

The imperial eagles see 

Before them in their flight, 
Here, in the solemn night. 
The old cathedral, to the years to be 

Showing, with wounded arms, their own 
disgrace. 



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KINGS 

(For the Rev. James B. DoIIard) 

^T^HE Kings of the earth are men of might, 
And cities are burned for their delight, 
And the skies rain death in the silent night, 
And the hills belch death all day ! 

But the King of Heaven, Who made them all. 
Is fair and gentle, and very small; 
He lies in the straw, by the oxen's stall — 
Let them think of Him to-day! 



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THE WHITE SHIPS AND THE RED 

(For Alden March) 

VI7ITH drooping sail and pennant 
That never a wind may reach, 
They float in sunless waters 

Beside a sunless beach. 
Their mighty masts and fimnels 

Are white as driven snow, 
And with a pallid radiance 
Their ghostly bulwarks glow. 

Here is a Spanish galleon 

That once with gold was gay, 
Here is a Roman trireme 

Whose hues outshone the day. 
But Tyrian dyes have faded, 

And prows that once were bright 
With rainbow stains wear only 

Death's livid, dreadful white. 



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MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 

THE WHITE SHIPS AND THE RED (continued) 

White as the ice that clove her 

That unf orgotten day, 
Among her pallid sisters 

The grim Titanic lay. 
And through the leagues above her 

She looked aghast, and said : 
"What is this Hving ship that comes 

Where every ship is dead?" 

The ghostly vessels trembled 

From ruined stem to prow; 
What was this thing of terror 

That broke their vigil now? 
Down through the startled ocean 

A mighty vessel came, 
Not white, as all dead ships must be, 

But red, like living flame ! 

The pale green waves about her 
Were swiftly, strangely dyed. 

By the great scarlet stream that flowed 
From out her wotmded side. 

[75] 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 
THE WHITE SHIPS AND THE RED (continued) 

And all her decks were scarlet 

And all her shattered crew. 
She sank among the white ghost ships 

And stained them through and through. 

The grim Titanic greeted her 

"And who art thou?" she said; 
''Why dost thou join our ghostly fleet 

Arrayed in living red? 
We are the ships of sorrow 

Who spend the weary night, 
Until the dawn of Judgment Day, 

Obscure and still and white." 

"Nay," said the scarlet visitor, 

"Though I sink through the sea, 
A ruined thing that was a ship, 

I sink not as did ye. 
For ye met with your destiny 

By storm or rock or fight. 
So through the lagging centuries 

Ye wear your robes of white. 

[76] 



MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 
THE WHITE SHIPS AND THE RED (continued) 

"But never crashing iceberg 

Nor honest shot of foe, 
Nor hidden reef has sent me 

The way that I must go. 
My wound that stains the waters, 

My blood that is Uke flame, 
Bear witness to a loathly deed, 

A deed without a name. 

"I went not forth to battle, 

I carried friendly men, 
The children played about my decks, 

The women sang — and then — 
And then — the sun blushed scarlet 

And Heaven hid its face. 
The world that God created 

Became a shameful place ! 

"My wrong cries out for vengeance. 
The blow that sent me here 

Was aimed in Hell. My dying scream 
Has reached Jehovah's ear. 



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MAIN STREET AND OTHER POEMS 
THE WHITE SHIPS AND THE RED (continued) 

Not all the seven oceans 
Shall wash away that stain; 

Upon a brow that wears a crown 
I am the brand of Cain." 

When God's great voice assembles 

The fleet on Judgment Day, 
The ghosts of ruined ships will rise 

In sea and strait and bay. 
Though they have lain for ages 

Beneath the changeless flood, 
They shall be white as silver, 

But one — shall be like blood. 



[78] 



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